Love Lessons
by Milli Moi
Summary: a different version of events from a previous idea, Patsy learns how to love romantically and learns that what she wants has been here all the time.
1. Chapter 1

(A/N) this may be a confusing introduction but I hope that will draw you in to the story and want to read more (and leave lovely comments...) just before people ask I want to say that this story is still set in the same timeline, it isn't a modern story, hope this intro and the chapter to come

I lay flat out on the single bed, with my head flat while I gave Delia instructions. This way she would have the best chance.

"Now place your hand proximal to the naval, hold it like your hand is a knife, now place your hand to find the fundus," I paused, letting her adjust her hands on my stomach.

"can you feel anything?" I prompted. Delia bit her bottom lip a little in concentration as she massaged with her hands, pressing in all the right areas. Her hands were cold, her nails varnished with a clear polish which made them shine and yet remain neat and clean, be the way that hands of a nurse should. She had always had the passion to be a good nurse and now she was becoming one. She eventually looked to me, her body seeming to tower above me. She offered a small smile but shook her head.

"Nothing."

I nodded, trying to sit up and taking her offered hand in order to help. I buttoned the checked shirt I was wearing. It wasn't closing easily. Delia seemed to notice this too and she looked instantly troubled. She bit down again on the lip she had just let go of then moved to place her hand atop mine on my stomach.

"Patsy."

I knew that tone, knew exactly what she was going to say and sighed internally. I knew she meant well, I knew she had my best interests at heart - even if it was still hard to believe she could really care about me. I looked into her eyes, they were deep but not dark, like a Mediterranean sea. Her thumb lay against the still visible skin of my stomach, stroking with a feather touch.

"Patsy, you've got quite the little bump now. I know no one has said, no one has noticed but, what if something happens, what if you get hurt or tired. If you were anyone else, if you were your own patient, you'd tell them to stop at home and rest."

She was right. I sighed deeply, I knew she was right and that was the very reason I couldn't speak. I could harm myself. I could harm the foetus. So much would have to be put in place, so much would have to change, but, for the first time since I had left school at sixteen I was happy with my situation. I was happy with Delia at my side. So much had changed in those four months, so much that it made my mind whirl in circles like an aeroplane propeller. So much change that I could never have believed, and more than would ever change again.


	2. Chapter 2

1957

I woke in a bed with springs almost pushing through the top of the mattress. The mattress itself was grubby and had a few unsavoury stains on its surface. The curtains that hung over a small window were once yellow but now everything above the windowsill had been bleached the colour of curdled milk from the sun. The room itself was a bomb site, clothes lay scattered in little mole hill piles across a carpet which looked like it had never been acquainted with a vacuum. There was a wardrobe adjacent to the bottom of the bed but one of the doors had a broken hinge meaning I could peer in and see a collection of hanging suit jackets, trousers and ties. He lay next to me sprawled out on his stomach, one arm was strewn out to the side, showing his dark haired armpit. He had a crop of dark hair on his head too, and down below. He was more hair than man. He was a real man's man, the type to treat a lady but not to deny them desires of a common prostitute. He was what I needed, he was my cure.

I rolled over onto my stomach tentatively, guarding my breasts from the hard springs in the shabby mattress. I felt the pain then, the feeling of bruising between my legs. I would need to have a look at the damage with a hand mirror later. Unfortunately I had seen a few examples of sexually induced injuries before – I had also seen the horror of infection. I sat up slowly, putting the weight onto the tender areas. I covered myself with the scabby quilt. I should be feeling good, I should be bright and chirpy and ecstatic. Instead all I felt was grief and pain. I had made love with a man but it had felt as though I had been charged by an elephant. I remembered the pain, the feeling I was going to be torn open when he inserted his hard, erect penis into me. It was so impressively thick, but impressive in the same way new technology was not in the way that it had been attractive to look at. A penis is a vulgar looking thing no matter what, but an erect penis, like a veiny sausage, is not something I wished to see again.

A lump rushed into my throat and tears spouted from my eyes even though I wasn't aware I had been upset. It didn't work, I wasn't going to change like this. All I felt was pain. I still wasn't a normal person, a heterosexual one. I was still wrong , still broken.

I was almost late onto the ward, Matron would have hung, drawn, and quartered me if I had been. We were exceptionally busy. There was a sister I had worked with for the past two years, she used to say it was the same every Christmas time. People got too drunk and ate too much rich food- although how that caused pneumonia I would never know. Despite the fact she blamed every illness on the time of year Sister Macintosh would still have been wrong as this busy spell came in early November. I was still fixing my bun into place with a bobby bin determined to be difficult when Matron cornered me.

"Nurse Mount."

She was aiming for me. I glanced, as subtle as I could, over Matron's head to glance at the clock further down the hallway. Ten to, and handover was at exactly seven am, I had managed to pull myself into some sort of shape and get myself into the London with time to spare. However, if she wasn't about to lecture me on timekeeping then I wasn't sure why she would corner me.

"May I see you in my office at ten am sharp- Sister has already excused you."

With that she turned on her standard, inch heeled shoes and swept back down the corridor.

For the rest of the morning it boggled me. I miscounted on the stocks of Morphine and had to go back to the drugs store to count the twenty odd viles once more, which also meant recalculating the mg we had in total. I later dropped a sterile syringe and had to take blood once more from a very annoyed young man with fainting spells. He was one of the choir boys at the cathedral and very urgent to get back to his solo training.

Finally, after countless temperature checks, blood pressures and the refreshing change of an appendix check, my watch red five to.

My first nurses watch had been a gift from my father, silver with my name engraved along the bar with covered the pin. My Father had unfortunately missed the irony of a watch that read 'Patience'. I no longer used that watch, I didn't want any harm to come to it. I had received it the day I graduated a whole five years ago, at only twenty one years old.

I mused over this while I sat outside the Matron's office. I had been so young – the majority of nurses were young, not yet ready to settle down- but I had been very young. I had always known where I wanted to go in life and had skipped finishing school in order to become a nurse. My father hadn't been at all surprised although he was a little annoyed he couldn't persuade me to carry on the family tradition and go to a good finishing school, become a proper young lady.

I was called into the Matron's office a few moments later. The office was a small and fairly modern room. Unlike the majority of the hospital's furnishings this room didn't look as though it was from my grandfather's day. The desk she sat behind was oak, and unstained, it brightened the room considerably just by being there. Matron gestured that I should sit on the small dining chair in front of her desk. She smiled at me, took a sip of tea and began to talk.

"Nurse mount, you came to us in…. December of 1949? Is that correct."

I nodded although the matron had stopped glancing at the sheet of paper in front of her and now looked ready to speak again.

"You have been with us through your probation, eight years service at the London. Sister tells me you are confident and highly competent, you exceed expectations of a nurse of your age and we must congratulate you on your maturity and efficiency."

"However, I have called you here today as your hard work has not been unnoticed. I had my concerns when we took you on so young but you have proved us wrong to assume that. I believe because of this that you will make a fantastic mentor for a young probationer."

My eyes widened, a mentor for a young nurse- someone to help her through her training, to teach her and observe her on the wards. Matron raised her hand, stopping me from speaking and telling her how grateful I was for the opportunity.

"She seems a good young nurse but she is being transferred from her local teaching hospital- Cardiff. Now we know the probationer's first language is welsh, not English. We don't know to what extent this will affect her ability to nurse in an English hospital. She seems a very keen learner and a pleasant young girl. Nurse Busby will meet you at the beginning of the day on your own ward, she will observe to begin, carrying out only simple tasks. If there are any problems you can report back to myself or the sister in charge. I am sure you will not let us down Nurse Mount."


	3. Chapter 3

Chap two ll

"It is simple knowledge, Nurse Busby. I'm sure I've known that a urine sample free from excess glucose should turn blue since basic school chemistry! You treated a high blood sugar, with ten units of Novorapid insulin! You are very, very lucky Mr Hamilton did not go into a hypoglaecemic coma."

I was livid, it was common sense! How could a young woman of 21 years old know nothing about diabetes, particularly diabetes mellitus. It was rife amongst the young population and climbing. Was she so sheltered? Surely a life in the Welsh wilderness didn't leave her incompetent.

I took a deep breathe, pushing through the door into the thoroughfare and holding it open to allow Delia to follow me. She was young, she was sheltered, and perhaps nursing was not as such her vocation as it had been mine. I knew I should have given her the benefit of the doubt but she should have checked. Fraser Hamilton was only sixteen, by the time I had returned to his bedside to check his notes he was physically shaking as well as sweating. I had instantly smelt the pear drops on his breath.

An injection of 3 gram glucose suspension brought him back to us enough to get him some jam toast and sweet tea. Only then had I read his notes, seen the injection and asked what colour the urine had came up. It had been blue, not clear.

"Delia, you need to be more aware, I highly suggest that you spend more time studying."

I was reminded of earlier. Of her dealing with a medical circumcision, she had been openly flirty with the young man as she examined him. smirking and looking at him with her bright blue eyes. Her eyes were one of the first things I had noticed when I saw her, she was fair skinned and dark haired and yet her eyes were a mesmerising sky blue, they were also deep and knowing as well as young and enthusiastic. I felt a rush of something I hadn't before, something I didn't recognise until I had began to yell at the probationer.

"And secondly, I find your behaviour towards the young men on the ward unnecessary. You are openly and blatantly flirting with them, it is highly inappropriate and unprofessional. I find it quite vulgar. These young men don't need encouragement."

Delia's hand went to her hip, she turned her face from me, smirking,

"Your jealous," she muttered under my breath. I flew words at her in fury but also in fear.

"Jealous? I think you will find I simply have decorum towards the patients and the other staff. I am not giving the young men any more opportunities to-."

I was cut off.

The young nurse had flown at me, her hand outstretched and pushing up onto the balls of her feet. Her delicate hand clasped to my cheek and before I could think, before I could pull away or deny her behaviour she kissed me.

Her lips were soft like the skin of a baby, and slightly chalky due to the dried lipstick layering them. Her hand was silky soft against my skin, her skin was warm and so comforting. She had a sweet scent, a tiny amount of lingering perfume dabbed onto her wrist from the weekend which had just ended. She smelt and felt good.

The kiss was long, soft and gentle but long all the same. I felt my shoulders lax from their angry position, felt my face slacken and my lips with them. It felt so different, so unique and so right.

I came to my senses in a heartbeat. I was kissing a woman, it was so wrong- so sickening. I felt my heartbeat treble and my stomach slip downward in my abdomen. I panicked, I couldn't be doing this.

I suddenly sprang into action, getting hold of Delia by the shoulders, shoving her hard away from me so she stumbled back. Her expression wide and shocked. She had looked confused, hurt. I was too panicked to even notice. I was sure I was going to throw up, I turned and ran down the corridor.

I ran blindly, horrified and feeling like a child running from the Japanese guards once again. I was running to escape as well as to clear my mind. As I reached the end of the corridor I managed to calm my slapping feet an fight to get my breathing back under control. The feeling I was about to throw up hadn't left. I felt wrong, there was no other way in which I could describe it. I simply felt wrong.

I did throw up in the end. The moment I reached the Nurses Home I had to run full sprint for the lavatory. I hadn't eaten much that day - only a slice of toast- but I kept retching as I knelt in front of the toilet, hugging the bowl as if willing it not to escape. I felt the acidic bile burn my throat, and still my stomach heaved. After a few moments and allowing myself to catch my breath once more I flopped down onto the floor, still gripping the toilet bowl with one hand.

I felt raw, disgusting and deflated. What did I do, Did I tell Matron what had happened? If I did Delia would certainly lose everything she had. It may not have been illegal for women to be that way – I had researched it myself as a probationer – however, no one wanted to have a daughter like that. It was like having a child who was a lady of the night. No one would accept her, she could never work, never marry. Delia would be ruined. I knew I should go straight to Matron, knew I should protect patients and this was something considered very much a crime but there was another issue. If I exposed the young nurse I would be exposing myself. The more I thought the more sense it all made. I had enjoyed it. There was no doubt now, no way out, I was one of them.


	4. Chapter 4

There was nothing to do but to throw myself into work. For the next few days all I could do was think about appendixes, sciatica and the odd case of pneumonia. It didn't help our cases were routine with no emergency admissions – emergencies took more time due to half hourly obs, they meant less time speaking to the young nurse.

Every time I looked at Delia I was met with two confronting, horrible emotions. In the first instance my heart leap forwards against my ribs, it pounded faster it ached for contact. My brain would then catch up, it would realise what my heart wanted, what every part of me wanted and would give me a mental slap on the wrist and shake me hard. What was wrong with me? This was not normal.

It was three days exactly when I finally received a knock on my bedroom door. I had been reading up on a new patient, one who had a type of haemophilia we rarely saw outside the royal family. I expected the knock to come from Matron, expected to receive my marching orders and be forced away from the job I loved. The job which had always been more than a job.

I jumped up from the cross-legged position on my bed, grabbing my dressing gown and tying it tightly around myself before I went to the door.

It wasn't the matron who stood there. It was Delia. She stood there in her own dressing gown, wearing a light coloured night dress with a lacy collar. Her dressing gown wasn't tied. My eyes took her in and for a horrifying second, settled on her nipples. I gave myself another mental slap, my eyes snapping back to her eyes. She looked worried, her face full of sadness and I found myself wanting to comfort her.

"May I come in?" She asked quietly, glancing around herself as I nodded and held the door open for her. I should have said no, I knew I should have said no. You don't help an alcoholic by putting a Gin under her nose, and I was adding to my own perversion by allowing this young woman into my room. I couldn't help myself, I simply couldn't.

She crossed the room and perched on the edge of my bed. Crossing her ankles politely. She had little feet, and her toenails were painted red.

"Patsy," she began, her expression pained so much that she couldn't look me in the eye. She bit her lip before she continued, thumbing the quilt on my bed.

"I know it's your duty to report me. I know you can't let it happen, but," she sighed and glanced at me quickly before shaking her head and turning back once more to the quilt.

"I read the signs wrong, I know that is no excuse. I felt something I have only felt once. I felt like it was in you too but I was wrong. I was so wrong and for that I am so, so-,"

"You weren't."

The words sprung from my mouth before I had even allowed them to do so. The feelings from deep in my heart had once again bypassed my brain and came tumbling from my mouth into the open air.

Delia's head snapped up to me, her expression full of confusion and wonder. She looked as though she believed those words as little as I did. Yet the words were true, they came from the heart which meant they could be nothing but the truth.

"You weren't wrong, Delia."

I couldn't look at her, suddenly feeling very shy and unnerved. My eyes found a spot in the wall paper and settled there as I spoke.

"I've been hiding it for a long time. Hiding my feelings. I have known since I was fourteen- perhaps even younger than that. I've tried to fix it, tried to stop these feelings. I have been with men."

With that I slid down into a cross-legged heap on the floor, my head buried into my hands and I began to cry. I had been hiding something else from myself, and now it was begging to be said. I needed to tell someone but I couldn't I just couldn't.

Again, the words released themselves without my permission.

"And now, I, oh good God, I think I'm pregnant."


	5. Chapter 5

Delia sat for a moment, just staring, but soon it fell through- the facade of someone who didn't care was gone and underneath was the real Delia. She wrapped an arm around me, an arm that quickly developed into a full on hug with her little hand rubbing up and down my back to soothe me as I sobbed into her thick hair.

The ice was broken in that moment. I told her something awful and she replied with something no one else had given since my mother passed- undeniably and undying love.

In the hours that followed we talked. We chatted about simple things- shared that we were both bilingual (well, my Mandarin was never half as good as her Welsh but I had tried hard as a young girl) We discussed the differences in running in free in stubble fields to rolling in the dust.

It was midnight before we knew it and we were lying on my single bed, me propped against the headrest and her head leaning softly in the no man's land between my neck and chest. The topic which always brought horror to me - the one usually followed by lies - was soon brought to the top of the pile. The War.

This time I felt my chest tighten and my throat dry and I dared myself to cry but something was different. There was always something different when I was in the company of Delia, something I had noticed in all the time I had been around her - she made me so secure, made me feel safe once again in a way I could only compare to my Mother and that is why the words spilt, tripping and tumbling over each other from my heart.

I told her it all, about the ship being torpedoed as we left Singapore, about being delighted at the sight of a boat as my mother tried desperately to keep herself and my younger sister afloat all the while paddling desperately at her side myself. I told her about arriving at the camp, having a tantrum at the simple boiled rice meal we were given and crying over the rats in the latrines.

I fast forward,telling her that within three months we had got used to so much. At six months in the camp I became a 'nursing apprentice' to the few nurses we had amongst our troups of british and australian women. I assisted in a caesarian - a woman expecting twins. I remembered scrubbing beyond the elbow, remembered waiting with a scabby, but clean, blanket waiting to receive the baby. I remembered him dying minutes later in my arms. He was too small and too soon.

I explained a year, then two and then my mother was gone. The Nips had found out my Father was a shipbroker - his brother a general. The Kampai took me for interrogation. They removed my fingernails, one by one. I wore boxing glove bandages for weeks and still it was painful. My sister had to feed me. I never told the Kempai we were related. She was eight when typhoid took her on its second race through the camp. She would have been the same age as Delia.

I cried once more in her arms, she cried for me, cried for my mother and sister and all the others who could never have made it out alive.

She was the first person to know about the camp, to know what had happened and what had made me a nurse. She was the first person to make me feel it was ok to have survived, help me look past my view of 'it should have been them' and to let me see that I was alive because I had a job to do. I was saving so many lives in the memories of all that had gone.

We laughed then, laughed about Delia's mother still living in the thirties, laughed about my 'posh kid' education and the hilarity of my days fencing in a convent. We talked about coming of age, growing up and knowing after a while we weren't like the other girls, knowing we would look at someone's bosom too long, or wonder what the skin at their waist felt like.

It soon went beyond one evening to become every evening, to Delia being the thing I knew I would always have at the end of a hard day. She was my opium. When a perfume was released with the same name, I bought it for her without a second thought only to find she had never owned a proper perfume before. She was both delighted to have it, and embarrassed to admit she wasn't exactly mouneyed. I was equally embarrassed to admit I was.

It was the perfect bliss I had grown up to expect. I knew there was no doubt that I had feelings for this woman, and there was equally a lack of doubt those feelings were anything other than the real thing.

It wasn't bliss, however, due to one small problem which was ever growing larger.


End file.
